


may you live in interesting times

by wekeepeachotherhuman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Con Artists, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Law Enforcement, M/M, Slow Burn, Undercover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5031784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wekeepeachotherhuman/pseuds/wekeepeachotherhuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Born James Buchanan, renowned art thief Bucky Barnes is finally put behind bars by the White Collar Unit of the F.B.I. in New York City. Three years into his sentence, the alias the F.B.I. had allocated to Barnes, The Watchtower, suddenly becomes active again. But with Bucky in prison, who could it be? A copycat? Or maybe they had the wrong thief all along. </p><p>Special Agent Steve Rogers, now head of the White Collar Unit is desperate to stop whoever this is, even if that means eliciting help from a known criminal. </p><p>A Marvel White Collar AU</p><p>**INDEFINITE HIATUS: tbh this will never get finished so if you're not interested in reading anything that's incomplete, hop on that back button. it will also probably get deleted over the next few days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one.

“Your professor’s told me that you’ve studied the Watchtower case,” Steve says. A sea of college students murmur and shift in anticipation in front of him. The Watchtower was the alias of an art thief. Did a real number on the Bureau, was practically uncatchable for years. He’d gotten bored of art, apparently and had tried his hand at bank robbing, which didn’t go over too well for him. “I was relatively new to the Bureau so I didn’t have a whole lot of access to case information, but I was a part of the field team that took him down. The Bureau likes its secrets so I was told only what I needed to know, but I can do my best to answer any questions you might have.”

            The White Collar Crime unit had sent out a field team, which Steve had been a part of, and they’d caught the Watchtower in the vault, looking about as surprised to see them and they were to see him there too.

            Steve shakes his head at the memory, chews at his bottom lip and then looks back up at the kids in front of them. A few hands had shot up.

Steve can remember a time when he would shake so bad and feel so sick that he couldn’t even stand at the front of a crowded room, all eyes on him. All the years at the Bureau sure as hell helped his public speaking skills. Now, well now he actually likes giving presentations, and giving rallying speeches to his team. And he’s damn good at it.

Today, though, he’s not in front other federal agents or local cops, it’s a bunch of students. A criminology course down at NYU had asked him and a few other representatives to come in and speak at White Collar Crime first-year course. Steve could only assume that it was in hopes to bolster the kids’ interest who, in first year, were probably more keen on parties than most of their schoolwork. Having a true-blue F.B.I agent come in and see them, though, well that would turn some heads.

Behind, Agents Romanoff and Wilson stand stoic, just like Steve had instructed them to do, looking serious so any kid talking out of turn might get a little nervous when either of them did step forward to put a stop to it.

“You,” Steve says, nodding at a girl in the front row.

She sits up a little straighter in her seat and smiles at him graciously. “I did quite a bit of reading on Bucky Barnes following our class…” Steve gulps at the mention of Bucky’s name. He’d been purposely sticking to Bucky’s alias for a reason. He forces himself to focus. “And there are a few theorists out there that say Barnes would always leave a signature at his heists, but none of the Watchtower crimes have it.”

“Are you suggesting we got the wrong guy?” That’s Wilson. Sam’s quick to the draw, knowing the question might give Steve pause.

“No,” the girl answers quickly, starting to blush and squirm in her seat. “Of course not. I just thought… Maybe you would have some thoughts on that.”

Steve straightens out his spine and prepares himself to deliver the same answer he’s been telling himself whenever that question knocks around in his head. _Did they get the wrong guy?_ “The people that say those things are just what you said.” He pauses for effects. “They’re theorists. We based our arrest on facts and evidence. Barnes was in the vault when we arrived. There was little room for error.”

“And Barnes’ signature?” she asks, this time more cautiously.

“It’s trivial,” Steve answers. She nods in response, about as satisfied with that answer as Steve expected her to be.

“What about the Watchtower name?” That’s another voice, from the opposite side of the room. It’s a boy, leaning forward on his desk, clearly riveted by the subject matter. “Did he ever tell you where it came from?”

Steve takes a deep breath, doesn’t want to say no, because that will only cause more questions. “Generally, these names come from some historical or literary reference to make the artist feel smarter than they are,” he starts.

“You don’t think Barnes is smart?” The boy counters.

“I think Barnes is incredibly intelligent,” Steve says. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his third agent step into the classroom. Barton. Except something’s off about him. He positions himself right next to Romanoff and whispers something into Natasha’s ear. “But that doesn’t matter,” Steve continues, trying to keep himself on the task at hand. “It doesn’t matter how smart you are, if you commit a crime, we will do everything within our power to catch you.”

Just as he finishes speaking, he can feel Nat sidle up next to him. She keeps her voice low. She sounds serious. “Something’s come up, Cap,” she says.

Steve looks over his shoulder at her. Her face is deliberately blank, but he can see that her jaw is set. He nods and then picks out the professor’s face in the lecture hall, down to the side of the front row.

“It looks like we’ll have to cut this a little short,” Steve says to him, then he looks back out to the students and with a wry shrug, says: “Duty calls.”

That spawns small laughter from them and as they turn to one another, doubtlessly gossiping about what might be so important to take the F.B.I. out of the their classroom, Steve and his agents take their leave.

Barton’s waiting for Steve on the other side of the door. As soon as Steve steps through it, Barton steps with him, keeping in stride.

“What happened?” Steve asks.

Clint takes a deep breath and shakes his head morosely. “You’re not gonna like this, big guy.” Clint passes Steve his phone. It’s open on a picture and Steve feels his blood run cold. It’s a sealed evidence bag with a business card in it. In neat, capital transcript, it just says: THE WATCHTOWER. Same as always, found at every crime scene this guy was involved with.

“When did they find this?” Steve asks, handing Clint back his phone.

“You know about as much as I do, Cap,” he says pocketing it. “But you’re wanted back at the office.”

Steve puts his hands in his pockets and begrudgingly curls them into fists. “Damn it,” he mutters. He shakes his head and then looks to Nat. “Go to the prison,” he says. “Make sure Barnes is still there.”

“On it,” Nat mutters. She makes a hard left and courses down the corridor, her phone already to her ear.

“You think he escaped?” Clint asks.

When Steve says nothing, Sam answers for him: “Wouldn’t put it past the guy.”

 

\--

 

Back at the office, Steve sees the card. And it gets worse. They’ve collected plenty of cards from this guy, all of them the same: black, a cream white with black text with just the stupid alias on the front. This time, there’s a message on the back. It says: _thanks for locking up my only competition_.

“We got the wrong guy,” Captain Fury tells him solemnly, though Steve can see the frustration behind it all.

Steve shakes his head. “But Barnes was in the vault. Why would he be there?” Fury shrugs. “Were they partners? Did Barnes take the fall for him?”

“Don’t sound like partners to me,” Fury says. He steps away from his desk and looks out his window, over the New York City sky line. He clasps his hands together behind his back and takes a deep breath. “But you could ask him yourself?”

“Sir?” Steve says, stepping forward. “You want me to talk to Barnes?”

Fury looks over his shoulder and nods. “I do.”

“Why?”

Fury turns to face him now, agitated and impatient. “Because if they’re not partners, then Barnes knows a hell of a lot about this guy. Information we could really use.”

“You want me to ask for his help?” Steve demands, a huff of breath escaping his mouth in disbelief.

“Why was he in the vault, Rogers?” Steve scoffs and puts his hands on his hips. For a long time, he thought he’d known the answer to that question. “If they weren’t working together, which this business card pretty clearly tells us, Barnes knew about the bank heist before we did.” Fury raises his eyebrows, hoping Steve will connect the dots.

“You think Barnes knows who this guy really is?” Steve asks. “He’s a criminal, Captain. Even if he does know, he’s not gonna turn anybody in. They don’t turn on each other.”

“No,” Fury allows. “Not unless there’s a deal involved.”

Steve’s shoulders drop and he suddenly just feels very, very tired. He squeezes his nose between his thumb and forefinger and shakes his head. “What am I offering him?”

“Early release,” Fury says, as though that’s obvious or easy, but Steve can’t even bear thinking about it. If Barnes isn’t the Watchtower, so what, they made a mistake on this one, doesn’t mean that Barnes hasn’t stolen millions and millions of dollars worth of art and artefacts over the years, doesn’t make him any less a criminal.

“And if he doesn’t know who Watchtower is?” Steve mumbles.

There, Fury pauses and that makes Steve freak out a little more. He looks up and Fury is watching him closely. “Early release,” he says again. And if Steve had thought he’d known defeat before, now he feels like his knees could just give way and let himself fall to the floor. Fury takes in a deep, definitive breath, indicating that this is the only option that they have left, and adds: “With conditions.”

 

\--

 

At the prison, Bucky somehow keeps Steve waiting. He’s two minutes late to the visitation Steve set up and smug as all hell about it when he does finally step through the door. He’s wearing handcuffs and a chain scuff the floor every time he takes a step. His feet are bound together too. But he’s still smiling. He looks at Steve as though he’s won something and then turns back to the guard who’d escorted him and mutters a quick thank you. The guard smiles back. They’re buddies, Steve can tell right away and he’s not remotely surprised. Bucky Barnes can manipulate his way through any situation. Even the most dire.

Bucky sits opposite him and lays his hands out in front of him, one on top of the other. His hair’s much longer than the last time Steve saw him, which consequently, was the day Bucky had been arrested.

“You look surprised to see me,” Bucky says, leaning forward, a crooked and cocky smile on his face. “Well,” he says then. “Not quite as surprised as the last agent to come see me.”

“Mr. Barnes,” Steve starts, ignoring his tirade altogether.

“Why?” Bucky asks, as though Steve hadn’t even spoken. “To what do I owe the pleasure of not one, but two, special visits from the F.B.I.?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Am I not exactly where you expected me to be?”

Steve’s known Bucky for most of his life. They’d grown up together in Brooklyn before quickly drifting apart. Steve’s not sure if it’s that familiarity that allows Bucky to know exactly how to get under his skin, or if Steve’s just inherently pissed off that he’d known someone for as long as he’s known Bucky and hadn’t been able to predict that he’d become one of the most prolific criminals of the 21st century.

“We’ve collected new evidence in regards to your case,” Steve says, keeping his eyes down on the folder in front of him. He feels Bucky’s eyes leave him for just a moment, flickering down to the documents and then back up.

“My case?” Bucky asks. When Steve looks up, he’s smiling again, as though he’s known all along that somewhere along the line, the feds would realise that the Watchtower case isn’t a Barnes case at all. Not dignifying that with an answer, Steve slides the document towards Bucky and allows him to peruse it himself. Bucky’s smile immediately drops as reality dawns on him. He looks up at Steve, eyes wide as saucers.

“He’s active again?” Bucky asks.

He flips through a few more of the documents before he closes the folder altogether and slides it back towards Steve. Bucky plasters on that coy smile again and Steve feels himself roll his eyes. “So you finally realised that I was telling the truth all along?”

“I don’t think you’re innocent, if that’s what you’re implying,” Steve mutters.

“Nah,” Bucky says, leaning back in his seat. “You’d be a pretty shit special agent if you did.”

Steve considers that, narrows his eyes and says: “Thank you?”

Bucky laughs and then sincerely replies: “You’re welcome.”

Steve hates that he actively has to work to keep himself from smiling. To busy himself, he collects the file and puts it back on his lap. Christ, he wasn’t even supposed to like this guy, never mind actually find him endearing. Steve blames it on the years where Bucky had been a little kid, actually cute and actually a nice human being.

“So you’re not here to tell me the good news about me getting out of this hellhole,” Bucky says, but he looks around the room, as though he’s actually fond of it. “So then why are you here?”

Steve takes a deep breath. This is it. This is the moment he’s been dreading. He looks up at Bucky seriously, praying for some morsel of decency so the guy won’t make fun of him relentlessly for this.

“I’m told we need your help,” he says cautiously.

“My help?” Bucky asks.

“Do you know who Watchtower is?” Steve asks, up front and blunt.

Bucky leans back in his seat and sighs. “No,” he answers and seems genuinely disappointed by that fact. He crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs apologetically.

“So you weren’t working with him?” Steve asks. “That night we caught you in the vault.”

“No,” Bucky answers, like it was a jab to his dignity. “I prefer to work alone.” He pauses, reads Steve like a book and knows that there must be more. “Is that all, Agent?”

“I need to believe you, Buck,” Steve says. He hadn’t meant to sound so vulnerable, but he just needs this moment to be over. Bucky freezes at that variation of his nickname and then his eyes flicker to the wall behind Steve, unable, for the first time that visit, to look Steve in the eye. “I need you to convince me that you don’t know him.”

“I don’t,” Bucky answers and his voice is soft with honesty. “I wasn’t working with him that night, I was trying to beat him at his own game. I was trying to find out who he was.” Bucky shrugs. “He played me. I was in that vault because he wanted me to be. Trust me, if I knew who he was, I wouldn’t hesitate to give him up. He put me here.” Steve knows he means in prison. “He _embarrassed_ me,” Bucky adds, as though that’s worse, and in Bucky’s world, maybe it is.

Steve takes a deep breath, decides that this looks like the Bucky Steve had known back in Brooklyn, back when he went by James Buchanan, and Steve was the only person in the whole world to call him Bucky, and nods. “Okay,” he says. “But we still need your help.”

“With what?” Bucky asks.

“Catching him,” Steve explains.

“What am I supposed to do? I’m behind bars,” Bucky drawls. Steve raises his eyebrows and Bucky gets the hint quicker than most would. His smile grows three sizes and then his eyes narrow, like he’s looking for the moment that Steve says ‘gotcha!’ and everything goes back to the way it was. “You’re not fooling me, are you?”

Steve shakes his head. He dips his hand into his work bag and lifts out the tracking anklet that Fury had given him before he left. He puts it on the table and Bucky groans.

“You decide you want out of this place, you work with me until we find the Watchtower.” Bucky watches him carefully. Steve nods down at the anklet. “You wear this thing at all times, so we can keep track of you.”

“From one prison to another?” Bucky jokes.

“You have a very loose definition of a prison,” Steve says with a smile.

“You have a very loose definition of freedom,” Bucky counters.

Steve looks down, hiding the way his smile makes it all the way to his eyes, then decides he just doesn’t care anymore. He looks up at Bucky, smile in tow and asks: “So are you in or are you out?”

Bucky stops. Everything stops. Steve can practically hear the tick of his own watch, then Bucky starts to nod. “I’m in.”


	2. two

Bucky keeps the window rolled down in the car the whole way from the prison. He beams out of it, watching telephone poles whizz by with the enjoyment of a two-year old. He leans back in his seat, slouching and apathetic, like he hasn’t just walked out of a life sentence. Clearly, nothing had really scared him on the inside. 

Bucky leans further out the window and points out to a deli once they get into New York’s downtown core. He laughs and says: “Ma loved that place!”

Steve smiles, he tries to keep his eye on the road in front of him, but Bucky is just so god damn endearing that he spends most of the drive darting his eyes back and forth. He reaches out, balls Bucky’s jacket in his fist and pulls him away from the window, sitting him down like a normal human being. 

“You’re like a puppy, or something,” he mutters. 

Bucky smiles and he sets his feet up on the dashboard in front of him and tugs one pant leg up, revealing the tracking anklet, as though Steve could forget about it. “Complete with an Invisible Fence zap collar.”

Steve rolls his eyes and laughs lightly. “It doesn’t electrocute you.”

“No?” Bucky says, raising his eyebrows. “That’s good to know…” 

And that makes Steve just uncomfortable enough to assert the power dynamic between them. Bucky’s not running. Steve will make sure of that. “It does a hell of a lot more than electrocute you. You step out of your radius, you won’t get far before you notice a red dot on the front of your t-shirt.”

That actually shuts Bucky up. His eyes are wide as saucers, just for a second, before he covers it up with a grin. “Jesus, Rogers. You got grim.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “No wonder. I’ve been chasing after you, haven’t I?”

Bucky shrugs, conceding that, knowing full well, he probably put at least a few premature grey streaks into his teachers’ hair, even as a kid. And he’s smiling, like it’s actually something’s he’s proud of. 

“So where’s this place you’ll be sticking me in?” Bucky asks, changing the subject. He rolls up his window for the first time and sorta turns in his seat to look at Steve. 

“It’s as close to the office as we could get you,” Steve says. 

“Is it nice?” Bucky asks. 

“Nicer than prison?” Steve asks with a smile. 

Bucky shrugs. “Just generally, I mean.”

“It’s nicer than prison,” Steve says. And that’s all he’s willing to offer.

Steve sees Bucky visibly deflate, knowing full-well he’s not getting anything else. “Cryptic,” he mumbles and looks back out the window. He falls quiet and Steve relishes the small break. All that’s between them is the radio, down low, and the consistent honking of the cars stuck in traffic around them. Then Bucky turns his head back to him, and he’s got a wicked grin on his face. Oh no…

“So,” he says. “Is there a Mrs. Agent Rogers?”

Steve feels his stomach tighten right up that prompts a conscious self-lesson in relaxation. He can’t let Bucky feel like he’s got the upper hand. “You noticed I wasn’t wearing a wedding ring the second you walked into that visitation room.” Bucky allows that, just happy to know that Steve doesn’t underestimate his observation skills. “So ask me what you really want to ask me.”

Bucky laughs, maybe a little shocked by how direct Steve’s being. Not that that’s any different from the Steve Bucky had known growing up in Brooklyn. And maybe that’s really what’s making him smile. “Just wondering if there’s been anybody special.”

“Why?” Steve demands quickly, feeling himself immediately flipping to the defensive. “You still hung up on me or something?” He regrets the words even as they’re coming out of his mouth. He watches them hit Bucky deep, sees it just for a split-second before the entire car is enveloped in the cloud of Bucky’s anger. Bucky folds his arms over his chest and then looks out the window. “Bucky…”

“Nah,” Bucky says to the window. “Fuck you, Rogers. You just lost the privilege of my conversation.” He’s angry as hell, Steve can feel it, but at least he’s trying to make the situation a little lighter, and Steve appreciates that. 

“Privilege?” Steve asks indignantly. He sees Bucky smile, meek and maybe a little sad and the guilt makes Steve want to open up. “To answer your question, not really.” Bucky turns slowly to look at him. “There hasn’t really been anybody special.”

“Married to your work?” Bucky asks. 

“Sure,” Steve says with a shrug. “If that makes sense.”

Bucky nods and says: “Makes sense. I guess I’m married to my work too.”

“Work?” Steve scoffs. “You’re a criminal, Buck.”

Bucky waves his hand, graceful enough that Steve can picture a cigarette between his middle and forefinger. “Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe.”

\--

The apartment that the Bureau’s got for Bucky is small. Minimalist. The furniture looks like it’s seen better days and the television still has rabbit ears on it. The walls are a clinical white, but there’s a plant on the windowsill overlooking the street. So, that’s life, right? Bucky looks like he’s just been sucker-punched. He puts his bag down on the ground without taking another step inside. 

“I thought you said nicer than prison,” he mutters. 

Steve pauses, looks around the room and: “There’s a plant,” Steve says, desperately trying to find something pleasant about the place and hold onto it tight, gesturing towards the window. 

“There are plants in prison,” Bucky intones. 

“Are there?” Steve smiles and shrugs sarcastically. “I guess I wouldn’t know.”

“Steve,” Bucky implores. 

“It’s a… Whaddaya call it? Tabula rasa.” He gives Bucky a little nudge, urging him to get a little excited. “Make it homey.”

“With what money?” Bucky asks. He steps towards Steve, his frustration and surprise manifesting as a need to be threatening. 

“You’ll figure it out,” Steve assures him. “You always do.”

Bucky’s shoulders drop and he sighs dramatically before turning away from Steve. He examines the apartment, growing more and more disappointed with each step. He stops in the doorway to what Steve assumes in the bedroom. He points inside and then looks back at Steve. “I half-expected it to be made of hay.”

“The Bureau can afford mattresses. Where do you think your taxes go?”

“I don’t pay…” Steve takes a step forward and Bucky stops talking immediately and widens his eyes, wanting to look a little more innocent. 

Steve raises his eyebrows, urging him to continue. “You don’t what, Buck?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Bucky says with a shrug, but now he’s starting to smile, so he steps into the bedroom, just to get away from Steve. 

“No, go on,” Steve says approaching the bedroom now too. “Suddenly you’re not Mr. Chatterbox?” He steps through the threshold and Bucky’s smiling properly now and that just pisses Steve off even more. 

“I won’t answer that on the grounds that it may incriminate me,” Bucky delivers. It’s a line he knows by heart, by now. 

Steve puts his hands on his hips and just deflates. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “Can you at least try to keep your past crimes to yourself?”

“Alleged,” Bucky says. “Alleged crimes.”

Steve takes a deep breath, tells himself over and over that he’s not allowed to strangle this fucking guy. He steps towards the bed and lays his briefcase down on it. He opens it up and pulls out some files. Bucky steps closer and watches over Steve’s shoulder. He counts the files: one, two, three, four, five…

Steve piles them together and then turns on his heel to face Bucky, who’s now much closer than he’d been expecting him to be. He holds the files at his chest, between them, like he needs one more layer of something between them. Bucky’s smiling, he knows he’s making Steve uncomfortable and loves every second of it. Steve swallows hard, collecting himself and then pushes the files against Bucky’s chest. 

“What’s this?” Bucky asks, still grinning, and still gazing right into Steve’s eyes. 

Steve tries to meet him, but catches himself looking down at the ground. “Homework,” he explains. Bucky groans. “Know these inside and out for tomorrow.”

“There are five of them,” Bucky points out. 

“You can count,” Steve says with mock-surprise.

“I should hope so,” Bucky says. “I’m Harvard-educated.”

“No you aren’t,” Steve says and they haven’t stepped back from one another. Steve hates that he’s noticed that. 

Bucky, still smiling, shrugs lazily. “So they didn’t give me a piece of paper. So what?” Did he step closer? Steve’s pretty sure Bucky stepped a little closer. 

“So you’re not Harvard-educated,” Steve says. He stands up a little straighter, pulling himself a few inches taller than Bucky and he’s sure as hell glad that he’s the bigger guy here. 

“I could be,” Bucky says. 

“I could be the President of the United States, but I’m not.”

“Why not?” Bucky asks with a smile. 

“Why am I not the President of the United States?” Steve asks indignantly. He scoffs and he’s the one to step away. He knows Bucky has taken note of that. He turns and brushes his hair to the side, a nervous habit he’s had since he was a kid. “I’m not gonna dignify that with an answer.”

Bucky shuffles his feet, side-steps towards the window and looks out onto the street. “I guess I was always the one who thought you could be more than what you did.” Steve knows he’s trying to get under his skin, trying to use their past against him, but he can’t help but feel anxious. What Bucky’s doing, it’s working. And Steve knows that he’s got to get out of here. 

“Stop it, Buck,” Steve says. 

“Stop what?”

“Read the files,” Steve says instead of answering. “Know them for tomorrow.” Steve steps back towards the threshold, keeping his eyes anywhere but Bucky. 

“You gonna quiz me?” Bucky asks. 

Steve stops in the doorway and turns to look at him. “Barnes. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll be the one to send you back to prison.”

“Well, then,” Bucky says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I guess I better get cramming.”

Steve nods. “I’ll pick you up at 8AM.”

Bucky nods back. “Copy that.”

And Steve gets the hell out, holding his breath until he’s comfortably back in the driver’s seat of his car. 

\--

Steve hadn’t always been a big guy. When he was growing up in Brooklyn, he was more of a gnat than the stinging F.B.I agent that he became. He’d been tiny, bullied for it mercilessly for the sole reason that people knew that he couldn’t fight back, well not really, though he tried to every time, but when somebody’s got forty pounds on you, what the hell are you supposed to do?

“You run, that’s what,” Bucky had told him once when they’d just gotten into high school, a place where bullies still existed and the only difference was that they were a hell of a lot bigger. 

No. You don’t run. Running only let people know that they’d won. But Bucky had obviously never seen running as losing. Running was smart; it was a strategic game that proved you were better than the people that were chasing you. 

Back then, Bucky had really been the only one who took notice of him, other than his mother, of course, but that’s what mothers do. Sarah Rogers had known all along how strong her son was and well… Bucky had seen that too and even though Steve didn’t really understand it (Bucky could have been friends with anybody he wanted to), Steve had always appreciated it.

Bucky had always been the one to talk more. Not only was he just generally chatty, he was always more comfortable talking about the deeper shit, even though he wasn’t always the most articulate. Bucky had always been so feeling and so desperate to course through them the only way he knew how, which was sometimes stammering through half-developed thoughts. 

Steve had never been that way. He’d felt things, obviously, but he’d never been the type to do much talking. He’d always rathered working through his thoughts himself, until he had a deep understanding of himself and those thoughts and feelings that made him him. 

Maybe that’s why they’d never worked. 

When you’re in high school, you don’t really understand anything as it’s happening to you. All these feelings are so new, they’re your firsts and you’re traversing this new world while still being expected to be in total control. Steve had spent most of his years in high school confused, mostly about Bucky. Looking back, he knows he’d had feelings for him, but at the time, he hadn’t wanted to admit it. 

And Bucky had been doing his thing: he’d been talking through the confusion and uncertainty he’d been feeling about Steve. He wanted to articulate it, but didn’t quite know how. He’d thought love, and maybe it was, but the seriousness of that emotion, and the fact that Steve had never felt it for anybody (unless that new, strange feeling he had for Bucky was love, all along) had spooked Steve. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it. He was still in silent introspection mode and here Bucky was, asking for words that Steve wasn’t ready to say. 

That didn’t mean that Steve didn’t feel something for Bucky, the same way Bucky did for him. But they were young. They had no idea how to compartmentalize these feelings yet. So for Bucky, they came out like a tsunami, but Steve was different: they reacted differently. Where Bucky was a wave, Steve was a dam. And they got nowhere.   
Bucky thought he was alone in his feelings and Steve didn’t correct him. 

And Bucky’s bitterness didn’t mix well with Steve’s guilt. They fought wars every day, until there was this animosity between them that tired them both out far too much to keep digging through on a second-to-second basis. So they found new friends and their history got lost in the hallways of their high school. 

And they hadn’t seen one another until Steve’s field team caught Bucky in that vault. Steve had seen pictures, sure, had seen surveillance videos from cases where Bucky was a Person of Interest, but face-to-face, it had been years. 

And then now. Now, he’s stuck in a partnership with someone so complicated that Steve feared he’d get thrown right back into that confusion he’d felt as a teenager. It was a feeling he never wanted to experience again, but here he was, holding his breath simply because Bucky was in the same room. Here he was, having to will his heartbeat to just fucking slow down. 

He needed space. He needed… He needed to admit that he’d been wrong to push Bucky away. He’d been wrong to make him feel othered. If only he admitted it to himself.


End file.
